


Sobriety

by Nyssa



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-03
Updated: 2010-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyssa/pseuds/Nyssa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the morning after, Starsky and Hutch dissect the night before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sobriety

He woke with one eye. That was what it felt like. His face was buried in the pillow, and his right eye was the only part of it able to move. It did, gradually opening, blinking, struggling to life. He looked straight ahead with it, saw nothing but bed, and blinked again. This time the movement sent a faint wave of sickness through his gut, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been because someone was with him. Someone's warm, solid body was curled around him from behind, someone's arm was lying heavily over his waist, someone's hand resting with unconscious comfort on his belly, as though to soothe the nausea.

He sighed gratefully, before the slow realization came to him that the someone was too big, too hard, too hairy to be a stewardess. Or a waitress. Or anyone else who could plausibly attach an -ess to the end of their job title.

He shifted painfully, glanced back over his shoulder, and with a little moan, closed his eyes again. Shit. _Shit_.

He lay defeated for a long moment, then slowly and carefully slid out of Starsky's embrace and righted himself to sit precariously on the edge of the bed. He had to balance with his hands, anchoring himself to the mattress for fear he'd go on sliding until he hit the floor. His head wobbled on his neck, and the rolling in his stomach was worse now. His bare foot struck something hard, and he looked down at it glassily. It was a bottle on the floor. He picked it up and stared at in disbelief. Vodka. Or it had been. Now it was empty.

What the hell.... He didn't even _like_ vodka anymore.

He dropped the bottle to the carpet, where it rolled noiselessly under the bed, and sat gazing blankly around the room. _His_ room. He couldn't leave. And he wanted to leave.

He heard a rustle behind him, a sigh, and turned to see Starsky settling onto his back. His eyes were tiny blue slits in his stubbly face. His riot of fluffy curls was mashed flat by the pillow. As Hutch watched, he put out his tongue slowly and drew it across his dry lips, then pulled it back in with a displeased wince. His eyes opened a bit further, and he stared at Hutch as though trying to remember where he'd seen him before.

Hutch turned his back. "We were drunk," he said, by way of explanation. His voice was an unpleasant croak, and he cleared his throat painfully.

"Mmm," Starsky said. And after a pause, "But not _too_ drunk, right?"

Hutch looked hopelessly at the ceiling. "No, I don't think so." His ass felt disturbingly tender, and his belly was sticky.

Starsky said nothing for a moment, and then laughed quietly. "Yeah. I'm gettin' some flashes here. Can't remember much, though."

"Starsk," Hutch said, turning to him, "we gotta stop doing this."

"We ain't doing it. It's just -- happening."

"Well, we gotta stop letting it happen. Getting drunk and -- "

Starsky sighed heavily and massaged his temples with his fingertips. "Gettin' drunk with your buddy is a time-honored tradition."

So was letting your buddy fuck you in the ass, Hutch thought. Most people had no idea just how time-honored a tradition it was. "We gotta stop."

Starsky was silent for a moment. Then he asked softly, "Don't you like it?"

Hutch stared at him, incredulous. " _Like_ it? I don't even remember it! How do I know if I like it?"

Starsky dropped his eyes and picked at the blanket. "You always want to," he said. "You always kiss me first. You get -- wild, Hutch. I mean, _wild_. Last night -- I don't remember much, but I remember you draggin' me in here and sayin' you wouldn't let me out till I'd fucked you through the goddamn floor -- "

"Jesus," Hutch whispered, closing his eyes. "Oh, my God."

"Not that I was exactly trying to fight you off or anything -- "

"I said that?" Hutch got the words out with difficulty. "I really said that?"

Starsky nodded. "I know you did. Thing like that sticks in your mind." He smiled ruefully. "One time -- damn, I dunno if it was the time before, or the time before _that_ \-- I couldn't, uh, quite get where I needed to be, I was so wasted. And you screamed at me like I was killin' you. I couldn't make you understand. For some goddamn reason you thought I was holding out on you on purpose. I tried to suck your dick, I tried to jerk you off -- you didn't want any of it. You just wanted me to fuck you into next week, and I couldn't. I mean, you were almost _crying_. You made so much noise I was scared shitless the neighbors were gonna call a black and white on us." He shuddered visibly. "I don't think I could've handled _that_."

For a long, horrified moment, Hutch couldn't speak. Then he said, "What'd you do?"

Starsky shrugged. "Put a piece of duct tape over your mouth till you passed out."

" _Duct tape?_ "

"I didn't know what else to do! Could've slugged you, I guess." He grinned. "But I didn't wanna mess up your sweet face, gorgeous."

"Jesus Christ," Hutch whispered. He shook his head slowly. "I don't remember any of that."

Starsky gave him a curious look. "Say, why the hell do you have duct tape in your nightstand, anyway?"

Hutch shook his head impatiently. "None of your business. Look, Starsk, I'm sorry. I mean, I had no idea I was -- like that."

"Well, you're not, unless you're drunk enough. I'm glad I'm the guy you get drunk with. God knows what you might get up to with somebody who wasn't lookin' out for you."

"No," Hutch said softly. "I wouldn't get up to anything with anyone else. You're the one I want."

"Oh," Starsky said, after a long silence.

Hutch sighed. It seemed as good a time as any for the truth to come out. "That's why I drink so much with you, don't you see? I don't normally do that, you know I don't. Even in college I never spent my weekends getting wasted, I never played stupid drinking games, I never went to frat house parties, or -- it's just not my thing." Only with Jack, he thought, with a sudden pang. In high school, not college. And only because he'd wanted him so bad.

He swallowed back the memories. "I just do it with you because -- it's a good excuse. I can pretend it's not really me."

"Oh," Starsky said again.

"But it is." He looked into Starsky's eyes. "It's me, buddy."

Starsky blinked at him, and then looked away. "Okay."

Hutch raised his eyebrows. "Okay?"

"Uh, I mean, it's okay with me, you know? If you -- want me. I mean, I don't have to be blind drunk to appreciate it." His face was flushed.

Hutch smiled. "You think we can do it cold sober?" He took Starsky's hand gently in his.

Starsky looked down at their joined hands, and then up into Hutch's eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. Then he cleared his throat. "But not now. I got a motherfucker of a headache."

Hutch released him and sank down onto his back with a sigh. "Me, too. Why the hell were we drinking vodka? Do you remember?"

Starsky lay down beside him. "My Uncle Dave sent it to me for my birthday. He likes me 'cause I was named after him."

"You like vodka?"

"No. I brought it here because I thought _you_ liked it."

"Well, I don't." Hutch turned his head, hesitated only an instant, and kissed Starsky on the nose. "But I have to admit I'm feeling some gratitude toward it."

Starsky smiled at him, close up, and Hutch felt his headache ease a bit. Starsky really did have beautiful eyes.

"The hell with the vodka," Starsky said. "You make me high enough."


End file.
